Conquerors

Chapter 3

I vacate Sanctuary, following the road out. I hesitate at the wood bridge adjoining the road over the river. I nibble my bottom lip. Half of it is toppled, chunks decaying away in the river.

I take a wary step, testing the sturdiness of the wood. It holds my weight.

I step slowly along the bridge, wincing at every creak. But I make it across safely.

I continue along the road, past broken down, rusted cars, debris strewn across the cracked asphalt.

I come up to the Red Rocket gas station. It appears very abandoned.

I unexpectedly hear a bark. I pause, spotting a mutt sitting by one of the gas pumps. I walk towards it, taking each stride carefully, attempting not to frighten it. It stands there, wagging its tail. It looks friendly.

"Hey little guy," I say, squatting down a couple of feet away from it. I extend my hand, seeing how it reacts. It wags its tail rapidly, panting with its tongue out.

It ambles forward, meeting my hand, setting the top of its head against it.

"Do you have an owner, buddy?"

It whines.

"Do you wanna follow me?"

It barks, as if in approval.

"Alright then, let's go."

I swoop into the building to see if I can uncover anything useful. I grab a couple of stimpaks and jet from the first aid box. I shove them in my bag. I also take the purified water and 10-millimeter ammo I find on the countertop.

The dog stays hot on my heels as I proceed down the road.

I pause as I come up to a dead beast in the middle of the street at the intersection. The odor of it causes me to gag. I cover my mouth, trudging around the carcass.

I hear a loud commotion ahead, spotting a massive group of people in leather clothes. One gulps from a bottle of vodka. Another huffs some jet. Something in my gut advises me to stay away from them.

I dart into a shady alleyway between buildings, taking each step with vigilance. I don't want them to find me.

I can hear a man crying out for help. He stands at the top of the town hall, a militia hat on his head. I peer down at the pistol in my hand. I only have a handful of ammunition. I'm no match against these guys. I wait silently in the alley until they pass.

He shouts continuously for someone to save him and his crew. I'm more defenseless than they are.

Unexpectedly it seems to escalate, the man returning to the building in a scramble. I hear screaming and gunshots. Then the man is forced back out onto the balcony. One of the men in leather shoves him over the railing. He plummets for what feels like an eternity. I close my eyes, but I couldn't block out the noise of his body flattening on the asphalt below. My stomach feels nauseous.

I sprint past the church and keep going. I don't look back. Not even when bullets whizz past my head. I don't stay on the road. I just run like my existence depends on it.

I feel my legs grow fatigued and my pace slows. When I finally come to a halt, I double over, retching on the dead grass. All that comes up is bile. After all, I haven't consumed anything in two centuries. I use some purified water to rinse my mouth out.

I keep walking further through the countryside when I hear a noise on my pipboy.

"NUKA COLA WORLD RADIO FOUND."

Nuka Cola world? I wonder if it still exists.

I discover a tiny cabin, bringing the dog inside with me. We settle in for the night. I eat from a monstrous tomato plant that is growing beside the cabin, in a crudely-dug hole. The fruit tastes more like a potato than a tomato. I don't like it, but my growling stomach forces me to eat.